


A Birthday in the Bechuanaland Protectorate

by Wheely_Jessi



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Africa, Bechuanaland Protectorate, Birthday, Birthday Fluff, Botswana, F/F, Fluff with feelings, Southern Africa, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-11 02:07:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13514505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wheely_Jessi/pseuds/Wheely_Jessi
Summary: It's Patsy's thirtieth birthday. She and Delia sit and watch the stunning skyline above their veranda, and think about what that means...





	A Birthday in the Bechuanaland Protectorate

**Author's Note:**

> In my head-canon, Patsy's birthday is 29th January, so I'm posting this today, as a rare fluffy (with feelings) piece. It's to compensate for all the angst in my other writing, and to celebrate an afternoon off at last. I guess it's a sort of thank-you note to you, and to our girls.
> 
> Content Warning: discussion of racism and (very vaguely) homophobia; also the grief pervading Patsy's life.

‘You’re a minx, Nurse Mount, you know that?’ Delia let the question hang in the (sultry, in both senses of that word) summer evening air as she walked out onto the veranda to place a soft kiss in the centre of the referenced redhead’s scalp.

Patsy shivered at the unexpected but appreciated contact, smiling up (unusually) at her petite partner from her slouched position in one of the chairs which stood as a sort of sentry by the threshold of their holiday hideaway. ‘You have informed me of the fact on numerous occasions, Nurse Busby, yes. But I must confess myself at a loss regarding your reasons in this particular instance – I’m merely making the most of the lovely light out here and reading my book. If you want me to come and help with the washing up, I can do –’

‘No, no, it’s your birthday; but that’s my point. You deliberately organised this trip for now so I wouldn’t be able to throw you a party at Nonnatus for your thirtieth, didn’t you, _darling_?’ The Welshwoman’s eyes were dark and her tone was heavily-accented, usually a sign of frustration – but of what kind?

Patsy deemed it her duty to find out. Holding her sweetheart’s smouldering gaze, she shot up a hand to capture the brunette’s chin, and began to bring her down for a kiss. ‘And here I was thinking you’d be nothing but thrilled to have me all to yourself, young’un,’ she whispered huskily before their lips met, enjoying the obvious surprise on her girlfriend’s face as a result of the sudden shift in atmosphere.

They both giggled when they (eventually) broke apart. ‘Oh I am,’ Delia said decisively. ‘Funny to think that the last time we had the liberty of doing that sort of thing was when _everyone else_ was in this part of the world, eh, love?’

‘Well, quite. That’s why I thought it a good area to start our trip – the Hope Clinic could always use more support, after all. We deserved a holiday first, though, and (especially as this birthday marks the twenty-first anniversary of the start of my own experience of similar cruelty) I didn’t fancy contributing to South Africa’s barbaric Apartheid regime via our tourism. So, after much deliberation, I settled on here.’

The brunette’s breath caught at the fiery vehemence of her _cariad_ ’s reply to what she had supposed would be a harmless question, before asking another. ‘But the Bechuanaland Protectorate isn’t much better, is it, Pats? Khama and his wife were exiled for years because of their “mixed” marriage. Imagine coming from a country where your love wasn’t considered morally or politically acceptable, either by your own people or by those with whom you trade?’

‘Yes, Deels, _imagine_ –’ Patsy broke off, and found she could no longer meet her girlfriend’s gaze.

‘Oh, Pats, I didn’t mean...’ Delia trailed off, too, cursing her naivety for not thinking about the undertones and wondering how a gentle kiss on the head had become so charged in all the wrong ways.

The older woman looked up again at the slight crack in her favourite voice, immediately contrite. ‘I know, love. I just get so irate about the injustices perpetrated or perpetuated (or both) by the British Empire.’

‘It’s called the Commonwealth, now, _cariad_ –’

Patsy snorted derisively, but managed a small smile for her sweetheart’s sake. ‘Much good it did changing the name – if that were sufficient to wipe out all the associations we ascribe to particular labels, where we are now would’ve been called Botswana for _at least_ the last two years. But no, because we Brits keep hold of everything until we’re positively _forced_ to let it go. Except, of course, in the Far East; but then there weren’t any diamonds there.’ A pause for breath, as she realised how much she was ranting, and endeavoured to balance herself again. ‘Sorry, Nurse Busby, it seems birthdays still make me bitter. I don’t suppose you have anything to prescribe?’

‘As it happens, Nurse Mount, I do: a healthy dose of self-compassion, because you’re allowed to be sad. I’m sorry I started all this by being petulant about a party.’ Delia laid a conciliatory hand on her _cariad_ ’s shoulder, and was thrilled when she felt her girlfriend place her own atop it, grasping gently.

‘I’m not,’ Patsy said with soft sincerity, ‘because it got you to leave the washing up buckets, and come out here, to me. We ought not waste away on wishes, Welshie, so I want to put my overwhelming sense of _hiraeth_ to good use, and only long for you. Normally I’d want us to go inside, for safety, but tonight I feel bold – and there isn’t anyone else around. Sit on my lap, love, and let’s look at that glorious sky. I like to think Mother and Gracie would’ve approved, were they still here to hear about you. I know Father did, at least.’

‘He did?’ The younger woman was glad the position her partner had suggested she sit in now concealed the look of incredulity crossing her face.

‘Mmhmm,’ Patsy mumbled into the nape of Delia’s neck, and was relieved and delighted when she shivered in response. ‘I was even bolder than I’m being tonight, and told him about us. He made me promise I’d do better by you than he did by Mother. That was his sole concern.’

‘Like father, like daughter, then – neither of you think of yourselves nearly enough, by the sounds of it.’

‘Do I not, Deels?’ came the breathy query by way of a reply.

‘No, Pats, I really don’t think you do...’

‘And how would you suggest I remedy that?’ the redhead asked as she trailed one of her locks along the path her breath had just taken.

‘Honestly?’ the Welshwoman whispered.

‘Oh, _always_ honestly, _annwyl_.’

‘I think you’ve just given yourself the answer, speaking _yn Gymraeg_. Let’s watch the sky from our window, sweetheart. Come to bed, my _beloved_ birthday girl.’

**Author's Note:**

> Written because I got overly-invested in the fact that these two have been staying in my absolute favourite part of the world. (My family moved from South Africa to Swaziland in 1963 [same year as these travels!] after my granddad was briefly arrested for anti-Apartheid activity, then I spent my early childhood in Cape Town.)
> 
> Also a homage to the beauty of the Southern African sky. I miss it so much. The UK is great in many, many ways (thank you NHS!) but my heart and home is forever in the Southern Hemisphere.
> 
> Now off to catch up on all the commenting and reading I've had to stop myself from doing this week <3


End file.
